


something wicked

by crackers4jenn



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frottage, M/M, Sex Pollen, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: "Why's it always gotta bewitches."(aka the 'sex pollen' Tropetastic Tuesday prompt.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tropetastic Tuesday #4: Sex pollen; ~~500-3000 words~~ Shhhhh.
> 
> This is an AU where Rhett and Link are hunters in the supernatural sense. It's not a crossover with the TV show of the same name -- more like a fusion. All you need to know is: Rhett and Link hunt monsters.

"Why's it always gotta be _witches_ ," Link complains, hastily rooting through the trunk of Rhett's 1989 Dodge Dynasty. Ruby's knife is in there somewhere. Probably they oughta organize things better so Link isn't digging through all their worldly junk just to get to one thing, but maybe he should save that thought for another time when they aren't in a life-or-death situation.

"Raising a demon, too," Rhett adds from beside him, shaking his head in a way Link's gonna interpret as: straight up judgment.

Link has his own judgments, mostly about Rhett's car. As far as bad-ass vehicles go, at least in the hunter community, the Dynasty is... not... that. Sure, she gets them were they need to be most times, and she travels back and forth across the country without very many hiccups, but you ever try to outrun a freakishly fast wendigo in one of them things? Link's side of the car still bears claw marks, okay. He's almost crapped his pants in it an embarrassing number of times thanks to its habit of stalling out in the worst moments. Link thinks it's got a temper like its owner, all silent treatments and stubbornness until you coax it with some placating words.

Rhett invades his personal space, leaning into him from the side. Rhett had a growth spurt--what year was that? Freaking 1985? A whole year after they met, making Rhett the tallest 7-year old in all of Buies Creek? That sounds about right--and has pretty much soared four-to-seven inches over Link ever since, give or take Link's own much more naturally occurring growth spurts.

"Find it?" Rhett asks, shoving a few rounds of potion-laced, witch-killing bullets into his shotgun.

Link's about to tell him no, he hasn't, and also _you need to clean your freakin' car, man_ , when a-ha, there it is. Burrowed beneath Rhett's collection of Merle Haggard cassettes, he spots its shiny, serrated blade.

"Got 'er."

He pulls it out with something a stranger watching on might call reverence, but really, he's accidentally spilled his own blood so often on its dangerously sharp edges, he knows now to handle it with caution. He does have _some_ respect for it, though. It's some buttload of years old, bequeathed to them by a demon they once knew named Ruby who was more enemy than friend. Can kill anything, including the witches teaming up to raise actual freaking Samhain from Hell today, on Halloween. Like, they encounter a lot of messed up things in their day-to-day doings, but this is some _real_ messed up shiznit.

The trunk slams shut while Link's busy appreciating Ruby's knife. Its noise draws his attention back over to Rhett, who's moving around to close the driver's side door.

"Ready?" he asks after.

"Yeah, baby," Link slurs at him, his voice rough enough it lets the joke of the endearment speak for itself.

It's a ten minute trek from the Dynasty, parked in an empty lot behind a rundown motel, to the (surprise, surprise) creepy abandoned house they'd been watching the past day, where the two witches are currently gathered. Many'a hex bag had led them to the neighborhood, after several interviews with distraught family members of the witch's victims. That's the thing about sacrifices; they tend to leave a trail easy enough to follow.

As they come around to the side of the building, Rhett holds a finger to his mouth to remind Link of what he already knows -- _be quiet_ \-- but Link takes the instruction in stride, barely sparing Rhett a passing glance as he treads as silently as possible up to the rotted siding of the house. With Rhett right behind him, they stick close to the exterior, and they only stop when they come upon a back room window.

Link sticks his hand out behind him, motioning to stop Rhett. As soon as he can feel that Rhett's complied, he edges until he's eye level with the window sill.

There's noises coming from inside, telltale sounds of inhabitants, but the room is clear. Feeling lucky, he gives the window a try, and what do you know, it slides right open. Him and Rhett grin at each other, but all too soon, Rhett's smile turns into a sigh of annoyance when he realizes he's going to have to heft the entirety of himself through an opening that is more than five feet off the ground.

"You're gonna hafta boost me," he whispers to let Link know, taking Link's place. Making sure the coast is still clear, he passes his shotgun through the window into the room and then gives Link a smart alec grin. "Beam me up, brotha."

First Link makes sure Ruby's knife, tucked into his waistband behind him, ain't gonna stab him somewhere he prefers never to have blood drawn, and then he crouches low enough for Rhett to step into the palms of his folded together hands.

"Watch your back," he warns Rhett. As soon as he feels his fingers buckle with Rhett's weight, he hoists him up.

Rhett, because he is a gangly, six-foot-seven-inch tall tree-freak of a person, does not enter the building gracefully. He goes in head-and-shoulders first, leaving a whole lotta leg on the outside. They dangle while he struggles the rest of the way through. Link's still pushing up with his hands until, like a wet spaghetti noodle being slurped up, Rhett disappears through with a quiet thunk on the other side that announces an awkward landing.

Rhett's head pops back up into view.

"Your turn."

Link doesn't turn down Rhett's offer of help; he grabs Rhett's hand and lets himself be yanked clear off the ground until he's got enough of himself through the window he can make it through alone. Even so, Rhett doesn't let go until Link's got both feet on the floor inside.

Stealthy as their entrance was, it still kicks up enough dust around them Link's gotta devote a full ten seconds to trying not to sneeze. The room they're in is nothing but rotting, debris-covered floorboards, entirely gutted out except for the broken metal beams of a bed frame and a single bulb swaying from the ceiling that Rhett must've knocked into when standing up.

Again, Rhett uses his face to signal their next move: his eyes bug out in the direction of the open door, and he jerks his head that way.

Now that they're inside, Link can hear the voices much louder. Not clear enough to know what they're saying, but going off of tone alone, whatever's happening is conversational, not ceremonial. Incantations have a certain speech pattern to them, and usually rituals are a lot more... obvious. You know, with the gates of Hell being opened and all.

Link leads the way out of the bedroom, straight into a hallway. They've been hunting together since forever (since the age of eighteen, if you want to get technical, but that was a full decade ago; it might as well have been an eternity since) so they work side-by-side as if they were one.

When they get to the next doorway, it's obvious they're at the front of the house. The living room is to the right and the front door is straight ahead. It still bears a decorative wreath, left from the last homeowners.

Link's next step is thwarted by Rhett grabbing his shoulder to stop him. He isn't stupid enough to vocalize his 'what the hell, man?' but he passes it between them with the look on his face.

Rhett points at his ears and makes his own face, but whatever he's trying to express, Link ain't getting.

'What?' he mouths, frustrated to have been stopped, and it's mounting.

Rhett points at his ears more emphatically, mouthing his own words, but he's awful at enunciating in normal situations. Now, he's plain indecipherable.

Link shakes his head at him. _'Can't hear you, stupid.'_

"He's saying, 'Probably shoulda been paying better attention.'"

Link looks around Rhett, where one of the witches is standing less than five feet away, having circled them from behind. He's short and has, funnily enough, the exact same goatee Link sported himself a couple years back. Seeing it on someone else makes him instantly regret his past life choices.

"Yeah. Hello. Good work. You guys meant to get caught?" another, more patronizing, male voice says from behind Link.

So. Now they're trapped.

With just a single look between them, Rhett and Link go from being cornered, to evening the playing field. In a matter of seconds, in a move so fast it seems slow motion, Rhett pulls up his shotgun just as quick as Link snags Ruby's knife out of his waistband.

Everything after that happens in a split second.

Rhett fires off a shot; the blast explodes so close to Link's face, there's an instant ringing in his ears. He guesses real easily by the half-a-second-later sound of a body hitting a wall that Rhett aimed correctly, but that thought barely occupies any of his brain space as he mostly focuses on the other witch rushing at them.

Mr. Goatee takes in his buddy's misfortune with a snarl that makes it a lot easier for Link to remember they're not dealing with regular people here; there's no boulder of guilt he's carrying around for killing things that deserve to be killed. He's never met one that hasn't earned it.

The witch stops and stretches out his arm, then jerks his hand to the side. The motion controls Rhett; he's flung across the hall, slammed up against the wall. He hits it so hard, he crumples to the floor in a daze.

Rage comes over Link _fast_.

The witch is smirking, still wearing that ugly snarl, only now it looks more like payback than anger.

"You kill mine," the witch tells Link, "I kill yours."

It's the usual gibberish all monsters, demons, and wannabes spout right before they find themselves dead. Ten years on the job and Link still hasn't figured out why there always has to be a monologue before the final moment. None of them ever go out shutting up.

Link's still seeing too much red to engage. He glances over to make sure Rhett isn't incapacitated beyond the concussion he probably has. He's started to sit up on his own, though the witch is still controlling him enough he's forced against the wall. There's a fair amount of blood already starting to pool at Rhett's hairline.

Link fights the woozy-feeling that tries to climb inside his head. You'd think he'd be used to the sight of blood by now, considering their luck more often than not lands one of them needing time to mend post-hunt. But something about it gets to him.

"Aw," the witch notices. "Boyfriend's hurt, hm?" His hand flexes to the side, and whatever it is he does, it makes Rhett shout out in pain.

Link bounds toward his friend. "Rhett!"

"Nuh-uh," the witch says. With a wave of his other hand, Link finds himself flung against the wall opposite Rhett.

Coming closer, the witch eyes Link, and then Rhett, who's on the ground kneeling, clutching at his stomach. The witch veers that way.

"Leave him alone," Link warns.

The witch's right hand squeezes into a fist. With it, there's an immediate sensation of suffocation, Link's lungs being squeezed like they're a pair of sponges someone's wringing all the water out of. He's choking for air as the witch steps closer still to Rhett. "You killed mine," he repeats, only darker, crazier, "I kill yours."

"The heck--" Link gasps, "--are you--" He can't get the rest out. Nothing's ever hurt this bad before, not even the time he was used as some demon's meatsuit for 12 hours before Rhett figured it out and expelled the thing out of him. That felt like having a full-body wound that was constantly being exposed to salt water.

But this -- he can't breathe, but worse than that, it's almost like he can feel five ice-cold points of pressure inside him on his actual organs, an ever-tightening grip that keeps him pressed head-to-toe against the wall.

The witch squats down in front of Rhett. Link wastes breath he doesn't have struggling to escape the invisible hold.

"Love. Makes you stupid. Right, Crosley? Oh, wait," he laughs to himself. "You killed him. Guess I'm gonna kill _you_."

When the witch reaches out and strokes Rhett's hair, right on the matted spot where all the blood is, something wild goes through Link, so strong and straight up feral, he finds himself falling forward without knowing how he got freed.

He doesn't have to think about what happens next; latching on from behind, he grabs the witch's head, yanks it back, and jams his knife straight into its throat before it has time to retaliate.

Through the gurgling of its bloody gasps for air, Link says, "We're just hunting partners," as the rebuttal to the stupidness that was previously being spouted, letting go of the witch to watch it collapse on its side.

Its eyes widen. Shock, maybe, and Link surmises the look has something to do with it being surprised to find itself in the same situation as its buddy (slash lover) but quickly he realizes it has more to do with the witch getting one last shot in. With a wheeze, the witch twitches toward Link like a puppet on a string, exhaling a yellow dust of _something_ onto him. Then it twitches once more, falls over stiffly, and dies.

Link, on the other hand, is on his feet quick enough to feel lightheaded, but that is a problem second to the anticipatory feeling that he himself is about to painfully die, poisoned by god knows what. Freaking witch powder. He waits it out, heart thumping so hard he swears it's about to pogo stick its way clear out his chest, but he stands there and stands there and nothing happens.

Then Rhett stirs.

With a groan, Rhett slides from his crouch until he lands on his butt, his legs spreading out so long in front of him that he awkwardly comes in contact with the body of the witch. He notices but doesn't pull away, used as they are to the dead husks of the supernatural beings they've had to kill.

"Cool," he says in a voice that comes out rough with pain. "We won."

Link's still waiting for a crisis that doesn't seem to be coming. Rhett peers up at him, squinting at the sight Link makes: standing there with his arms spread out like some holy figure, welcoming Rhett back into the land of conscious, a look on his face that must look dumb as hell.

"Link? You alright?" Rhett slides a hand along the wall and uses it as leverage to haul his very tall body to its feet. Link watches Rhett sway from dizziness, slowly feeling his own brain revving back up.

He's not dying. He doesn't feel poisoned. Whatever that parting dust sprinkle was, it _wasn't_ fatal.

Link grabs Rhett around the bicep, steadying him. "Your head okay?"

"Yeah. Why?" Rhett reaches up and winces. When he pulls his hand away, there's blood on the tips of two of his fingers. "How's it look?"

With his stomach rolling over, Link grimaces. "We should leave." The dead body of Mr. Goatee at their feet echoes this sentiment. The second dead body of the other witch is redundant at this point, but Rhett glances its way and comes to the same agreement.

They go out the way they came in. From the inside, the window is only waist high; Rhett slips out of it without any help, landing in the grass outside without a sound. Link's following right after, but he pauses uneasily, his skin starting to prickle.

"C'mon." Rhett's voice is an impatient hiss. He reaches around the back of the leg Link had managed to get through the window and tugs until Link's got the second one through, and then Rhett's hand is sliding up-up-all the way up the back side of his thigh as Link slips through the window to the ground. His feet come down solidly, but he still stumbles, jarring into Rhett. Their height difference means he face-plants into what's basically Rhett's armpit, and considering the sort of day they've had, the smell he's hit with ain't freshly laundered linen and deodorant. It's a strong scent too sour to be straight up B.O., but it don't reek that bad either. It's kinda nice.

Link's thinking about nuzzling closer when the hand Rhett had wrapped around Link's thigh finds itself wrapped instead around Link's elbow. He yanks him.

"Let's go."

Link is clumsy moving the first couple of steps forward, but he's in the right state of mind to make a clean getaway by the time Rhett's let go and is stalking forward without him.

By now, there's a chill in the evening air. Children are trick-or-treating. It's not dark, but the sun's so close to touching the horizon, the neighborhood houses they have to cut through make shadows black enough that it might as well be. Still, it ain't their first rodeo. Most of these houses have occupants and it's easy to use the occasional back porch light to see.

When they come upon the edge of the parking lot and Link spots the Dynasty in all her beat up glory, looking too sorry for any criminal to ever bother stealing, his gratefulness is nearly palpable.

They get in one right after the other, Link settled into the passenger side first. Rhett's got a whole lot of leg he's gotta fit into a pretty compact space, so it takes him just a bit longer. By the time he's situated, Link's stuck staring at the jut where Rhett's knee is nearly touching his, splayed open as his legs are. Rhett's let his head fall back against the seat's head rest, from either exhaustion or a sudden coming down of adrenaline. Link only notices when his eyes crawl up that way, and they do that after a disturbingly thorough once-over, made even more creepy by the fact that, against his own accord, his gaze lingers on Rhett's crotch for long, drawn out seconds.

Post-fight endorphins. That's what's happening here. There have been plenty of hunts that ended with them in separate motel rooms, entertaining the company of women. Life-or-death situations get you feeling all frisky.

Rhett's soft chuckle snaps Link back to. "Dang. That was so stupid. I was blacked out for, like. Everything."

"Your head hurt?"

A glutton for pain, either that or he's plain stupid, Rhett reaches up and touches the laceration on his head again. "Little bit. Let's get outta here." Smear of blood on his hand, Rhett fishes his keys out of his pocket and gets the car going.

***

It doesn't take long to put the hunt behind them. Less than an hour later, Rhett's started the telltale shifting around that means his back's bothering him.

Link's shifting too, but more out of antsiness. He hasn't been able to get comfortable this whole time. It's like his whole body is still wound up expecting a fight that ain't coming. If he sits still for too long all these little flicks of fire start racing back and forth up and down his body. He's re-situating himself over and over again like he's gotta pee real bad, and Rhett's given him a few looks that imply the same thing.

"Pull off next exit," Link tells him, only it comes out sounding forced.

Rhett snorts. "What'd I say about the coffee? You always gotta have your pre-hunt cup. And you wonder why my bladder's normal compared to yours. Freaking size of a freaking pea."

"Shut up," Link argues back, making Rhett laugh. He obliges, though, taking the next exit. Link says, "A _pea_. You're such a dork."

They've got their choice of motels to pick from. Rhett goes with the Days Inn a couple stop lights down. When they roll to a gravel-crunching stop in its parking lot, headlights and engine cutting off at the same time, it doesn't take a conversation to figure out Link's going to be the one booking them a room. Rhett's no longer bleeding from the head, but there are dry flecks of it obvious enough to tell he once was. In his hair, down his face. In his beard. He's got a stain around the ring of his collar Link can't look at without feeling queasy. And something else, something happening lower down than his gut, but if he thinks about _that_ , he might actually vomit.

"Get us kings, man," Rhett tells him. It isn't an order -- more like a voiced prayer to the Motel Gods -- but to maintain some semblance of normalcy, Link still huffs at him.

"Really? 'Cause I was gonna ask for a cot and a foldout couch."

That ends the way most of their sentences tend to -- with a thwack across the other person's chest/shoulder. Only, when Link slaps at Rhett, he touches him and feels, instantly, like he oughta be gripping tighter, not letting go.

Rhett pushes him away with his usual amusement-filled grumble. "Quit it, I'm starving. It's probably been at least _four hours_ since I last ate. I'm like a bear, man, you know that. I need food, all the time. _Rhett need food_ ," he grunts like a caveman.

"Bears hibernate, stupid."

Link punctuates his point by exiting the car.

***

"Good job, Neal."

Rhett's entered the motel room first. Judging by the sarcasm in his voice, that isn't a congratulatory assessment, but rather the words of a shaming.

Link pushes his way past, forcing the decades old motel door shut behind him.

"It was all they had," he defends himself.

He sees what Rhett sees, though, and that's a room decked out in nautical decor even though they're so far inland, purchasing seafood out here would be a mistake. The lamp is shaped like an anchor. For some reason, there's a net draped on the wall.

Worse, though, is the single queen-size bed in the center of the room.

Rhett snorts and dumps his duffel bag on the dresser near the TV.

"You say so," he mutters.

Link doesn't have the heart to argue. One, because he's hungry and tired and drained from their hunt, and right now all the energy he has is being stored for the shower he knows he needs to take. And also, some part of him _is_ pleased with the arrangement. He's shared beds with Rhett before. Obviously, they've been best friends since the age of six. They've hunted together since Link turned eighteen, and have been on the road together pretty much ever since. It'd be weirder if they hadn't at some point. But something about it now. Link's getting squirmy thinking about it.

"Hey," Rhett calls over to him. He's sorting through his duffel, staring as he does at the mirror above the dresser. He's got his head angled so he can see where the bleeding came from. "Do me a favor. Band-aid me up."

Rhett tosses a packet of alcohol wipes at him before he can protest. He probably wouldn't have, anyway. As squeamish as the sight of blood makes him, he's never refused to clean Rhett's injuries up. Kinda what being partners is all about.

Link's dropped his own duffel onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Rhett sits down at the edge of the mattress, their medical kit placed beside him. Link oughta grab a wash cloth to clean the mess on Rhett's face up some -- he oughta wash his own hands while he's at it -- but instead he decides the alcohol wipe'll do.

He steps into the 'v' Rhett creates with his legs. Rhett's got such a gigantic trunk of a torso that, even sitting, he comes up pretty freaking tall on Link. His eyes are about goozle-level. When Link swallows, he knows his adam's apple disappears from view before bobbing back up like a fishing lure breaking the water's surface.

"Shaky hands," Rhett comments with a snicker. When Link makes eye contact, Rhett's bug-eyes practically announce it all over again. "Told ya. All that coffee."

If that's what Rhett wants to think, he can go on ahead.

Once, back before they started hunting together, back when they were daredevil sixteen-year-olds who survived the currents of the Cape Fear River regularly enough to think they were invincible, Link remembers feeling it. The same antsiness he feels now. He'd wrecked his old Nissan pickup with Rhett in the passenger seat beside him, and after it'd stopped rolling and the truck had landed on its side with two of its wheels up in the air like a dog begging for a belly rub, he remembers even now what he felt back then when he realized him and Rhett were still alive. Even bigger than the relief that they weren't going to get in trouble for getting themselves killed, something swelled so strongly in his stomach, in such a foreign way, he thought he'd suffered an internal injury. Rhett had landed on top of him, a sweaty tangle of their long and bony limbs, and when he tried to push off with his own ecstatic laugh over the craziness of what had happened, Link wanted to follow up after him, wanted to kiss him.

He's thought about that -- every day since? In secret, in shame, in guilt. With girls, with himself in the shower, one time with Rhett dead asleep in a motel bed right beside his.

Point is, the shaking hands? That ain't new.

"You're weirding me out," Rhett says, eyeballing him warily. "You hit your head too? Lemme see."

Link has to physically manhandle Rhett back down. "I'm fine."

Rhett doesn't look convinced. He stares until he seems to figure something else out. "Too much blood?"

Sure. He can think that too.

Rather than answering, Link swabs the alcohol wipe around Rhett's injury. He does have a thing about blood -- staring at it too much makes him want to faint -- so he wipes up quickly what he can see without devoting too much thought to what he's doing. When Rhett flinches, he dabs more gingerly.

"You think those witches were working alone?" Rhett asks him, leaning back on his hands. The mattress sinks with his weight, adding to the new distance. Link's got to lean in closer to continue without his back acting up.

"You mean like, were they together? Or with other witches?"

"Feels too easy, doesn't it? They were going to raise Samhain from freaking _Hell_ and we just... wham-bam-thank you-ma'am'ed 'em." He clicks his mouth. "Too easy."

Link wipes down the side of Rhett's neck, where there's a trail of dry blood. Rhett complies wordlessly. He bares his throat, allowing easy access.

Link knows he's getting a boner. He's twenty-eight. He's had a lot of years to figure out what that feels like.

Part of him feels okay with this. He's lived with his private attraction to Rhett long enough he's grown semi-comfortable with its existence. Most of him, however, feels like any second now he's going to drop dead from cardiac arrest. His shaky hands? That's not coffee, okay, that's heart-related distress.

With his head craned to the side, Rhett wraps a hand around Link's wrist to stop him. From the worry in his eyes, Link knows he's going to ask again if Link's okay.

Instead Link kisses him.

Well, sloppily presses his mouth against Rhett's without any sort of warning, so unexpectedly that Rhett doesn't do anything to stop it. It's so hasty, and so clumsy, that Link falling forward isn't even a tactical move. Accidentally, he topples them both into a horizontal position on the bed, the medical kit knocked to the floor. He lands on top of Rhett with a grunt of pain that transitions very fast into pleasure, since his body soon realizes his dick? Is pressed very close up against Rhett's.

Rhett realizes this about the same time he does, only his reaction clues Link in that Rhett isn't so stunned anymore. Rhett twists his head out of the way, separating their mouths.

"Link, what the _hell_ \--"

It takes every bit of cognitive power he's still got to hitch his brain to the same wavelength Rhett's is on. With an effort that might as well be Herculean at this point, Link rolls off Rhett and lands at his side, on his back.

He runs his hand down his face. When it flops to the bed beside him, it hits Rhett's instead, and again he has to forcefully stop himself from grabbing hold.

Rhett's chest rises and falls in his peripheral. Link wouldn't mind latching his mouth anywhere onto it.

"What," Rhett stresses, "the hell, Link?"

Rhett's pissed. Okay. Link gets it. But also, if he hated it so much, he should just leave, let Link jerk off in peace and if Link does so while he happens to think about his best friend, well --

He's rubbing his hand over his dick now, in front of Rhett. This is fine.

Rhett rolls his body upwards, until he's sitting. He looks behind him, over at Link, and something about the way he must optically be pleading for Rhett to leave him the heck alone or else he's going to come in his pants right here, right now, must spell something out for him, because he announces, "FREAKING WITCHES."

Rhett is on his feet the next second, staring down at Link like some giant statue of a Greek sex God.

"Them witches did something to y--aw, c'mon, quit humpin' your dang hand, Link," he complains, shielding the sight from view, holding his hand out in front of him.

"You gotta go, brotha," Link tells him, tongue poking out behind his teeth. It should be a warning, but it comes out more like a dare. He's never been so close to an orgasm so soon before. Yeah, the first few times he ever bad-touched himself the fun was over before it really ever began, but that was so long he ago, he was still coming dry. His endurance has built since.

He'd like to think so, anyway. Now, he's barely even done anything and he's almost already there. Probably that has something to do with Rhett looming so tall over him. He could make Link stop, if he really wanted to. Could get back on the bed, crawl over him. Hold him down.

"Oh, gosh," Rhett whines when Link groans a sound so guttural, it makes the tips of his own ears flush pink.

Still using his hand to block Link from his line of sight, Rhett asks him, "Those witches do something to you?"

"Offended me, in the hair follicle-region," Link sasses, out of breath.

It takes Rhett a few seconds before he gets it: the one guy had a goatee.

"You're JOKING right now? You're like human freakin' Viagra right now, and you're _joking_?"

"I know," Link tells him -- he gets it, he does, there's some small, horrified part of his brain that understands completely how messed up this is -- but still. His dick forms a solid outline in his jeans, and he cups it, just barely resisting the urge to squeeze. "Rhett."

"Alright, alright, we gotta--what do we do? Maybe--maybe you just gotta, you know." He makes a 'clear the pipes' noise that Link agrees with.

"You should--"

"I'm going."

Rhett heads for the motel door. Then he stops. "Actually, I'm gonna--" He doubles back and goes, instead, to the bathroom. At its doorway, he explains, "In case you..." His eyes land on Link's crotch, and he clears his throat. "Call if you need me. For emergencies! 911 only. You're dying, you stopped breathing, that sorta thing--"

Link's reached the point where he doesn't even care that Rhett's still in the room. He unzips his pants and pushes them down around his ankles so fast, he'd be impressed with himself if his dick wasn't achingly hard almost to the point of nausea.

Distantly he's aware of the bathroom door shutting, of the room being empty to just him. Something in him longs for Rhett, but once he wraps his hand around his dick, that thought subsides and he's able to use his sweaty palm to get the friction his body wants. His shoes dig into the mattress at the end of the bed, and his hips arch upward. Three more thrusts like that and he's coming, his orgasm hitting him so hard, he tenses instead of relaxes.

As soon as the last pulse of come spills over his knuckles, he goes completely limp, letting his dick fall soft against his bare thigh.

Only, as he's breathing out, catching his breath from the embarrassing exertion of doing practically nothing, he realizes that didn't really do anything for him. Yeah, he's got a mess all over himself and the motel bedsheets that implies otherwise. But his dick isn't exactly laying spent; it's hard as it was before, and when he touches it tentatively once more, that overwhelming need to come floods through right back through him.

So he does. Link takes all of thirty seconds to jerk himself off a second time, and when he gets the exact same result (a satiated mind but a body still asking, 'the fuck, dude? get me off!') he figures maybe he oughta get someone with a clear head out here.

If that happens to be Rhett, who's own dick Link would very much like to see, that is just the way the cards have been stacked.

"Rhett," Link calls. Sounding like a guy in a porno. He tries again. "Rhett, man."

He can still hear the strain in his voice, but ever so reluctantly the bathroom door budges open. There's a second where it seems like Rhett could be peeking through a crack to get the all clear, but then he hears, "That go okay?"

"I think I'm screwed." Already, with just the sound of Rhett's voice, Link's gotta actively instruct himself not to touch his dick. That it's twitching like a clothesline in a storm is its own fault.

Rhett steps outside the bathroom -- and stops fast when he sees Link in the same predicament as before, immediately averting his eyes.

"Link, I swear to--"

"It's possessed! I can't get it to stop."

"Did you, uh." Rhett pauses to regret his whole entire life. "Have you--reached completion?"

In another time, Link wouldn't have let Rhett live that phrase down. 'Reached completion,' who even says that, ever.

"I completed myself _twice_. 'Bout to be three times, you keep talkin' like that."

Rhett finally makes pointed eye contact with Link, but the fact that there's any sort of struggle for Rhett not to look anywhere else on Link (who, reminder, is sprawled out on the bed with his pants around his ankles, covered in two rounds of his own jizz) is enough to make Link want to push that further.

"What should I do? I can't call 911, 'cause that's _insane_. 'Yes, hello, 911? Witches got real magic. How do I know that? 'Cause they hexed my best friend with a _perpetual boner_ '--"

Link's gotta touch himself, he's just gotta. As soon as he does, he feels good all over again, but it still isn't enough.

"Maybe that's it," Rhett tells him. He sounds weird. "You gotta have a witness? Always knew you were a freak," he jokes, but it falls out weakly considering -- well, considering. "Maybe someone's supposed to watch?"

When Link comes a third time, his eyes are locked on Rhett's. He finishes and feels, finally, like that might be it, but when Rhett breaks the standstill they find themselves in, moving like he's about to bolt back to the bathroom, there goes Link's dick again, and the same desperate urge.

"No," he curls to the side, "no, no, no."

A hand cupping his ankle startles him. Link looks up just as Rhett starts tugging Link's shoe off.

"Fair warning, I have no idea what I'm doing here," he tells Link, pulling off the other shoe. It drops to the floor, followed soon by Link's socks and pants. Rhett kneels onto the bed near Link's feet afterward. "But I got an idea."

Link's naked from the waist down. He's still wearing his shirt. He'd feel stupid about that, only Rhett's swinging a leg over Link so he's hovering on all fours above him. Link doesn't have time for wasteful thoughts.

"So," Rhett says. He looks down, very quickly, at Link's dick. "You think it could be that another person hasta... you know. Touch it?"

Link hasn't seen Rhett blush this hard since that time they were twelve years old and Rhett was describing his first kiss with Amber. An experience, Link likes to remind him, that was so awkward, Link gets pinched whenever it's him who brings it up.

Rhett, now, is flushed bright red from high up on his cheeks, all the way down his throat. Link's betting if he got Rhett out of his shirt, he'd see that blush go all the way down.

Except. He knows he wants Rhett. That has been made abundantly clear by his body since this began. It's probably not a coincidence. But Rhett doesn't want him back, and as much as he genuinely believes he (and/or his dick) will inevitably combust without his touch, he's not about to make Rhett do something he's only willing to do because he thinks he has to.

"Don't, Rhett," he says, when Rhett starts to reach down.

"It's better?" Rhett is immediately relieved, but then he looks down and sees: boner town. He scowls at Link. "Don't be such a freakin' prude. Let's at least try."

Link wraps his hand around Rhett's wrist, stopping him when Rhett tries again.

This time, Rhett looks offended.

"Stop being dumb, Link."

The only energy Link's got left in him is to shake his head. It's hitting him how exhausted he is. He's a grown ass man; coming three times in just a few minutes is unheard of. He's parched, feeling like he's got one hell of a hangover, yet still his dick is eager to go.

Rhett breaks out of Link's grasp easy. He takes Link's hand, pins it to the side. Looks down again. When he meets Link's eyes once more, he jokes, "How many bodily fluids're we gonna wind up swapping before we die, you think?"

That sends a memory of their middle school blood oath hurtling to the present. They did it after they found out that supernatural stuff was real, swearing they were going to grow up and save the world together.

Now Rhett's gotta jerk Link off, all in the name of heroics.

Letting go of Link's hand, trusting that he won't try and stop him again, Rhett searches Link's eyes long and hard before, slowly, he wraps his fingers around Link's dick. He doesn't do anything except form a loose fist, and already Link's right there at the edge of another orgasm.

"Okay?" Rhett asks quietly.

Link blows out all the breath in his lungs. "Please."

So Rhett pleases him. His grip tightens and, using the slickness of Link's previous orgasms, he gets a good, steady rhythm going in no time. It feels nice -- it feels amazing, no other person's touch has ever felt better, Link is pretty sure he could die right now and he'd wake up in a Heaven that is exactly this; him on his back with Rhett's hand on his dick -- but his mind keeps whispering Rhett's forced consent at him, too often for him to let go.

Rhett's grip gets tighter. "Relax, Link," he tells him; orders him, the command in his voice obvious. Hesitating, Rhett drops forward and kisses Link, dry and close-mouthed. Link doesn't return it, but he feels his mouth immediately heat up with that point of contact.

After a moment, Rhett stops everything he's doing, and straightens. Straddles Link's thighs. Making a decision, he pulls off his shirt, throwing the dirty garment, worn for at least the last three days, over the edge of the bed. Link's brain immediately turns to static. All he hears is white noise, all he sees is chest. He was right; it's flushed red to match Rhett's face.

Rhett leans back over him, blocking the overhead light that wasn't very bright to begin with, dimming the room around them. It also creates a small fluorescent halo behind Rhett's head, making an angel out of him. Seems about right.

"Is it working?" Rhett asks quietly, taking in Link's goofy grin, his suddenly content state. He feels drowsy with it.

Rhett wipes Link's bangs out of his face, gripping Link's head with both of his hands to hold him firmly. "Hey. _Link_."

"Hey, handsome," Link offers back, hearing how it slurs. "Kiss me."

Link isn't so far gone he can't see the worry that softens Rhett's eyes. But Rhett kisses him, and this time, Link kisses back. At first, what's happening would be classified more as a 'peck.' It's almost familial, like something you'd greet your great-grandma with. Then Link remembers he's got hands of his own; he slides them up the back of Rhett's arms, feather light, but something about them mutually touching each other does for Link what power cords do for computers; he goes from low batteries to fully charged, an energy thrumming through him so rapidly, it matches the intensity from earlier.

Rhett catches on quick. When Link surges with the sorta strength that usually only comes over him when his life's on the line, Rhett lets himself be rolled over, landing on his back with Link on top now, their legs a tangle they don't bother to sort out. Rhett's got his jeans on, and the roughness of the denim against Link's bare dick hurts in a way he didn't know he liked, but he doesn't bother trying for gentle. He humps Rhett and Rhett lets him, helps him. He guides him through it, holding onto Link's shoulders while Link's back arches up and his hips press down.

It's like that for a couple of minutes, hushed except for the heaviness of their breathing, until sweat's started dripping down Link's face, droplets of it landing on Rhett. Link watches one of them, watches it splat near one of the many freckles and moles Rhett's got high up on his shoulders, and with a groan he puts his mouth right there and sucks until the taste of salt is gone and it's just Rhett's overheated skin against his flicking tongue.

A hand's worth of fingers tangle in the short hairs behind Link's head, a possessive grip that holds Link in place long enough for him to suck a purple mark against Rhett's chest before Rhett's tugging Link towards his mouth instead. They kiss like they mean to, like this is where the night was heading all along.

Link feels the knuckles of Rhett's other hand brush against the tip of his dick. He can feel, too, the smear of precome it leaves behind. But Rhett pays that no mind, too busy trying to unzip his jeans. Link, in a less hurried time, might've moved out of the way to let him -- probably would've knocked Rhett's hands aside and done it himself -- but he's got a single-track mind at the moment, too distracted to help. The whole bed judders when Rhett snaps his hips down to shimmy far enough out of his pants and boxer-briefs he's able to free himself; right away, he exhales into the kiss. Link no longer has jeans to rut against, but turns out, fucking himself against Rhett's dick? Even better.

Very quickly, Rhett wraps his hand, huge freaking thing that it is, around him and Link both, does it easily with room to spare, and they're both big guys; it's such a slick grip, Rhett jerking them both off without the aid of any lubricant that isn't their own, but because of the angle there's no real rhythm.

Link sits back, sits so his bare ass rests where Rhett's got his pants pulled down to. Without Link's weight on him, Rhett's able to squeeze them together better. Link watches like he's drugged, like this is some virtual reality porn realm and he's got the headset's point of view. It doesn't take him long to notice how Rhett's head falls back against the pillow, how his neck muscles strain. Not because he's fighting it, but because he's as hard as Link and just as close.

Forcing Rhett's hand out of the way, Link takes over. His hand's nearly as large as Rhett's, but not quite, so his fist is looser. He makes up for it by falling forward some, bracing himself one-handed. He rolls his hips into Rhett's, small at first while they move through the circle of his fingers, and then faster when he lets go, when he fucks down in earnest with Rhett's dick jerking lightly against his.

It doesn't take long for Link to come, and the only warning he gives Rhett is to still the snapping of his hips. When his orgasm hits, Rhett reaches between them and jerks himself off until he's right there with them, coming so closely together it all kinda lands in the same place.

Exhausted, Link rolls off of Rhett, plops right down beside him. With how hard he's breathing, he can smell their sweat, the sex they just had, their individual needs to shower. He laughs, breathy and just this side of delirious.

Rhett glances over. They're almost eye level. Means he can read the expression on Link's face just fine. "That work?"

Link's too tired to tell, honestly. He thinks yes -- how could it have not? -- then feels, no.

With a groan, he tells the ceiling, "Kill me, man. Just kill me."

Rhett's hand reaches out and smacks at him. "Don't say that. We'll figure somethin' out, it's freaking WITCHES. They're not that smart. They--" Rhett cuts himself off abruptly, sitting up. Link watches, already feeling again like they should start doing what they just finished, only, hey. Here's a thought. Maybe penetration will work. Maybe that's how this plays out. Only, Rhett's grappling with Link, grabbing his shirt. "Link, are you freaking serious?"

Link lets himself be jostled as Rhett tugs the shirt clean off his body, lobbing it into the garbage can near the sink like it's offended him. It lands perfectly (of course it does: high school basketball star, Rhett McLaughlin) but instead of boasting about nailing the shot, Rhett's scooting off the bed and taking Link with him.

Rhett pulls Link to his feet, telling him, "Did you not notice? You got _stuff_ all over you. Witch stuff. It's on your shirt. Look at you, you got it in your _hair_. Of course you do."

Link is led into the bathroom and then the tub. Rhett turns on the shower, stepping in after him just as the spray hits. It's a blast of cold startling enough to wake his mind up a little. Rhett doesn't bother waiting for it to warm up; he ducks Link's head under the stream, not-so-gently rubbing until his hair's soaked through.

By the time the water's gone fully hot a couple of minutes later, Link feels -- okay. Normal. It's an anticlimactic coming-back-down, considering all the climaxing that'd been done. Rhett's still running his hands through Link's hair, turning him toward the tile wall so he can work out the powder in the back. Link stares at the shower wall and waits for reality to catch up with them.

This one time, Rhett got bit by a vampire and Link had to haul ass three towns over to kill the thing, had to do it with Rhett there to drink the vampire's blood after to cure him. Feels sort of like that now, like his heart is jittery, like he could do something stupid.

Stupider, anyway, than what they've already done.

"I think it's all out," Rhett murmurs, slicking one last hand through Link's clean hair. "How do you feel?"

His dick has finally gone soft, so that answers most things for them.

"Awesome," Link snarks. "Amazing. I feel _great_ , Rhett. How do _you_ feel?" he shoots back defensively.

Rhett manhandles him back around, so they're face-to-face. Link didn't notice until now that Rhett had stripped out of his jeans before getting in the shower with Link. It takes a lot of effort not to look down, but the scowl on Rhett's face lets him know he might get punched for it if he did. "Hey, I'm just trying to help."

Link's gotta bite back another sarcastic remark. He's feeling mean with embarrassment, lashing out because what else is he supposed to do? High-five Rhett for a job well done?

Except Rhett's glancing _down_. His mood is on the entire opposite spectrum of Link's. He seems _happy_. Practically giddy with it. "Looks like it worked. _Hey, lil' buddy_ ," he coos.

Lingering humiliation has Link cupping his junk to hide it from appraisal. "Don't do that. Don't say 'hi' to it."

"I'm just happy it's back to normal," Rhett defends in a high, delighted voice.

"Yeah, well. You're making it weird."

"THAT'S what's weird about this?"

Point. But.

"That was the sex pollen," Link defends, aiming for 'I did not act of my own volition, fyi' but landing more on 'I didn't say it was bad, though.'

Rhett picks up on it. His left eyebrow, the one he controls with a freakish muscular ability, arches up high. "Huh."

Link knows the only way to move on is to physically move. Get out the shower, continue to cling to his shame like it's a fun new personality trait. ('Yeah, that's Link Neal. Kinda tightly wound. Pretty funny. Has a tangible aura of shame hovering over him at all times. Cool guy.')

He's feeling kinda risque at the moment, though. Blame it on a witch if you'd like.

"I mean," he starts, letting his eyes track from Rhett's mouth, down his chest, straight to his dick, which practically ten-huts at the attention. "I should probably thank you, Rhett."

"Probably," Rhett selflessly agrees.

"I can't think of too many other guys who'd fall on that particular sword to save their friend. Get it? _Sword_."

"Got it."

"I'm talking about my penis."

"Yeah, I got that."

"My penis is the sword."

"Alright. Making me regret it."

"Why, 'cause this whole time all we had to do was get me in a shower and get me clean?" Link jokes. "Spoiler alert."

"No," Rhett says. He reaches around Link to shut the water off, and then just. Stays. Tall as Rhett is, and with the bathroom all steamed up, it makes Link's head go a little foggy. Rhett tells him, "I regret it took us this long to do that."

There's an implied 'don't you?' in the way Rhett raises his eyebrows at him, how he tilts down even closer.

Link answers with a kiss. Distantly he's aware that he's still cupping his junk and that's awkward as heck, but he's come four times already tonight. If his dick gets anywhere near hard anytime soon it might just fall off. It's why he pulls away after less than a minute, when Rhett starts crowding him against the shower wall.

He doesn't want to have to say the words 'awesome that we're kissing, but I'm on 24-hour dick rest' out loud, but the perks of knowing someone for as long as he and Rhett have been friends, some things don't need to be vocalized.

Rhett gets it and lays off, with a teasing smirk that says he's going to push that time period later, just he wait. Before he leaves Link to himself, Link stops him, makes him meet his eyes.

"Hey. Thank you. For realsies," he tacks on, when his voice wavers with the weight of what he really means.

If Link's gratitude was a silently declared 'I love you,' the soft smile Rhett gives him might as well be saying it right back. He nudges Link's nose with his own, waiting until their mouths line up.

"Anytime, brother," he murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEN LINK GETS HIS STAMINA BACK AND THEY BONE AGAIN, the end.


End file.
